


darling, it's hell out there

by yuuki_Illene



Category: Left 4 Dead (Video Games), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Everyone Needs A Hug, Found Families
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-20 08:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22014319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuuki_Illene/pseuds/yuuki_Illene
Summary: When the zombie apocalypse breaks out, a veteran has to do what he has to do -Namely, find food and water, survive, and maybe, just maybe,Find a family and keep it even if the world is in the shits.Bucky Barnes Bingo 2019 - Y1: Zombies
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Avengers Team
Kudos: 6
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2019





	darling, it's hell out there

_Forgive me lord for I have sinned;  
I’d rather go to hell than be those things._

_Claire I’m so so sorry_

A cusory glance into the bedroom where there were two bodies lying motionlessly on the bed, stuck in death’s embrace told him that the note-writer had succeeded. He scrunched his nose at the putrid smell they emitted; but better dead than infested. At least they weren’t so… _sick._

Quietly, he stepped over a zombie and made his way into the kitchen. He tacked the note under a fridge magnet before he started to raid the space. To his satisfaction, he found a few cans of preserved meat and vegetables, and further search into the cupboards yielded oats and cereals. He carefully stashed them at the bottom of his bag before he checked the taps.

 _Clear water_ , he noted the steady stream. Better than his apartments at least - some asshole decided to dump something into the water supplies and it forced him out of his fortified house prematurely. Sadly, the couple had an electric stove and he couldn’t boil the water before storing it.

 _When did electricity run out again?_ Bucky wondered idly as he watched the water pass through the filter and into his bottle. _A week?_ He hazard a guess. Nights were infinitely more dangerous now that it was plunged into complete darkness. No one could know if danger laid around the bend, and using flashlights in the streets was making himself a walking beacon for someone to pick on him.

He turned off the tap and slumped onto the floor and against the drawers. The knobs poked at his side but he ignored it, wrestling open a packet of biscuits with his teeth. He spat out the wrapper and bit into his bland rations. What he wouldn’t give for a home-cooked meal and a hot shower - luxuries he had started taking for granted again, apparently.

Once finished, he brushed off the crumbs of his cargo pants before starting to ransack through the apartment for more supplies. He counted his blessings for the spare batteries and first aid kit he found, and changed out of his stained shirts. His nose scrunched. He stunk like the dead, damn it.

Bucky saved the bedroom for last, well aware he would hate every moment of it. Nonetheless, he breached the room, skirting around the edge of the bed. A slow breeze blew through the half-broken window, lifting the curtains and letting moonlight through the veil. He averted his eyes from the murder. _Supplies_. How people chose to take themselves or anyone out was not his issue. He was amongst the living and he would like to stay that way.

Spotting a box of pistol ammunition, he heaved a low sigh of relief. 9mm, as expected, considering the note-writer’s choice of weapon. He immediately backed out of the apartment after picking up his backpack next to the door. It took his six floors to find an apartment with decent supplies, but it was better than nothing.

Majority of the inhabitants had already fled after it became apparent that the virus was already in the city and the military blockade was keeping them in an impending death zone. Bucky involuntarily shuddered when he remembered the constant sound of gunshots that lasted for an entire week. He wasn’t sure if it was zombies, the military or civilians being shot but all he knew was that it was chaos.

Reports at every quarter only brought bad news. The CEDA finally giving up pretenses and declaring that the virus was could not be contained. Citations of how everything begun in Pennsylvania and how it spread like wildfire. The rising death tolls. The list of safe houses growing shorter. The military bombing airports to stop the spread of the virus. And what was anyone expecting?

There was no feasible way that it would have went well.

First it was one, and then two, then four. It multiplied without a pause. The virus, having so many fresh hosts nearby rampaged through the city state. They were a hotspot bringing the new wave of virulent infection and it left New York a ghost town, where destruction and corpses littered the streets, and the infected ruled.

It had been two months since everything begun, and most of the radio channels have gone static.

The military seemed to have given up on the idea that there were any survivors left. From what he last read — graffiti scribbled on walls by the previous occupants who stayed in the panic rooms — they had a new name for the survivors. Carriers, they called them. The ones who the virus could not mutate. It doesn’t matter if they hadn’t been bitten, the fact that they survived as long as they did in hell’s fest was enough evidence against them.

Then, soft vibrations transmitted down the metal railing caught his attention. Instantaneously, he pulled out his Beretta M9, released the safety and pointed it upwards. Only the dead were beneath him, he made sure of that. Bucky listened carefully for lumbering footsteps. Quiet.

 _Human then_ , he deduced, cautiously backing down the last of the stairs and towards a corner. He angled his weapon where his assailants were bound to appear, cursing his own complacency. He thought he had shaken off the groupies— evidently not. The faintest of whispers. He cocked his head to hear carefully.

After a few tense moments, a shirt tied to an arrow was shot down the stairs and impacted the wall. It swung like a white flag, causing him eyebrows to twitch.

_Surrender?_

If it wasn’t life and death, Bucky might have laughed at the gesture.

“No effect?” A male voice called out from above. There was a small sound of impact followed by a whine.

 _Does he really think I’m idiotic enough to answer?_ Bucky mused. He continued to train the gun in the same direction, although his trigger finger relaxed slightly. They’re not openly hostile, he could predict that much.

(And even longer without electricity or a home, he doesn’t remember when was the last time he talked to _anyone_. It’s usually anguished, ill-begotten moans at the end of his gun barrel, or the guttural sound of hunger as they stretch their jaws grey and thin, wanting to devour rather than speak.)

Slowly, as if to telegraph his movements, the person who previously spoke trod down the stairs with his hands raised. Bucky couldn’t say he didn’t think about shooting the smirk off his face, right on the nose where there was a small plaster. He looked ridiculously well put together despite being two months into the crisis; meanwhile, Bucky knew he looked and smelled like he came out from a sewer.

“Name’s Clint,” he cheerfully said. “And I really don’t want to fight you.”

Tersely, Bucky replied, “You’d lose even if you tried.”

Clint shrugged a little at that, confidence unflappable. “Maybe. Probably. I saw how you took those zombies out back at the lobby. You’ve got some neat aim and sweet knife skills. I respect that.”

 _Since then?_ He went through that many apartments and hadn’t realised their presence? Maybe he was losing his touch. Either way, he didn’t like the threat that said, ‘if we wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.’

“What do you want?”

“Your company?” Bucky glared in reply.

“What he means to say,” a female voice spoke from above, inconveniently away from his line of sight, “is that we were curious. It’s rare to find a straggler these days. You’re either dead, infested or you’re sticking to a group. There’s safety in numbers.”

“And you pull your own weight.” Clint continued. “There should be takers for your skill set alone. So… we were hoping to recruit you? Plus, you look like an immune. We could use more of those.”

Lifting his prosthetic arm — a ghastly, still miraculously working thing with one too many bite marks — he clenched and unclenched his fist, knowing that they would understand from how slow its reflexes was. “I wouldn’t know if I was immune or not. Never been bitten.”

“Damn, I have greater respect for you then. Surviving alone handicapped? You’ve really been strong arming it out, haven’t you?”

Bucky’s lips pulled at the edges slightly. He lowered his gun to his side, which Clint took as his cue to put down his hands as well.

“Right. Look— what’s your name?”

“Bucky.”

“Rhymes with my dog. Very unmenacing for someone like you.” An odd glint flickered across Clint’s blue eyes before he snorted. “Okay. Bucky. My partner and I have a base out of the city with all the necessities needed for the Doomsday scenario we’re stuck in. Running water, food stock, electricity, shelter, showers, you name it. And I can guarantee its the closest and best sanctuary you’ll find within city limits. The city is going to be a shit show. You don’t want to be here when the living start competing for looting ground. ”

“And how do I know that I can trust that you’re telling the truth?” Bucky asked. Irrationally, he re-adjusted his backpack. “How do I know if I turn and your partner ain’t gonna put a bullet through my head?”

“Whether you think we will or won’t is up to you. We’re just offering, no hard feelings. If you don’t want it, we’ll walk away. We’re not really in the business of killing the living any more.”

The way the archer said it so freely like he was discussing the weather gave Bucky a pause.

“You’re a military man.” The redhead spoke up again before he could contemplate deeper about it. Cautiously, she walked down the stairs to stand beside her partner. She planted her feet shoulder width apart and equipped at her belt was a contraption that looked like a gun and yet not. “You know the signs. Does it look like we’re lying?”

Begrudgingly, Bucky had to admit she had a point. People of their calibre didn’t fight for the losing side. They didn’t look they were starving, their backpacks were fuller and they were as clean they could be in an apocalyptic scenario. Blue eyes scrutinised them for a few more seconds before he clicked his safety back up.

“Told you he could be convinced,” Clint told his partner.

Breezily, Bucky cut in, “If ya think I’d hesitate to shoot you, you’re still wrong, pal.”

“That’s just comes with you being a vet.” Clint smirked. “People like you are just paranoid shits — which might explain why majority of the survivors we came across usually have one.”

The soldier did not reply immediately. He still remembered how frequently his therapist told him he needed to let go of his paranoia — _“not everyone is out to get you, James. Unclench your jaw and take deep breaths”_ — though it was working in his favour right now. Too well in fact.

He yanked out the arrow and flipped it, handing the projectile back to the archer by the sharp end. “Daylight will be ending soon. If ya want to get back to base safely, you better start leading. Nights in the city are nothing compared to noons, country boy.”

Clint barked out a laugh. Undoing the shirt knot, he draped it around his neck while tucking the arrow back into his quiver. “I’ll take your word for it, city boy. Nat will take point, you bring up the rear, yeah?”

Bucky nodded. “Fine by me. Ain’t sure what you’re going to do with your weapon of choice any way.”

“Yes, the city is abandoned, we’re fighting zombies and I have a bow and arrow. We didn’t think we’d be here a few months ago and yet we are. Nothing makes sense,” Clint deadpanned. “However, if that’s a jab at my accuracy, we’re going to have _words_ once we have time.”

“And we don’t have _time_ for your contests, boys.” Nat interjected, pushing past them to climb down the stairs. “We’re marching before evening comes. We have an hour to get out of the city.”

Clint grinned. “Yes Nat.”

Nat tossed him a long-suffering look over her shoulder. “Don’t.”

“Yes Nat.”

Bucky shook his head and followed them quietly.


End file.
